


Do I Wanna Know?

by daynight



Series: Telegraph Avenue [6]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-17 16:20:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3536012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daynight/pseuds/daynight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Webster has returned and Liebgott is, predictably, truly terrible at showing his feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I Wanna Know?

**Author's Note:**

> Not based on real men, no disrespect intended. Based on fictional TV characters.

David Webster turned up in sunny Berkeley, large travelling backpack strapped securely onto his body, expecting great things.

What he didn’t expect was to be picked up by an incredibly grouchy Liebgott in an old, broke down Volvo and practically ignored apart from a ‘get in’ whilst some other guy snickered in the front seat.

He wasn’t anticipating flowers or a huge romantic gesture or anything. That would be silly and very out of character. A hug or just even a goddamn handshake would have been nice, though. This was the guy who had been sending him regular and sometimes verging on the suggestive letters for about a month. He was acting almost as aggressively uncaring as he had when they had first met, staring out of the window vacantly as David clambered into the back seat, running a hand through his wavy hair.

He looked good though. Maybe even better than David remembered. Or perhaps, he cynically considered to himself, David had done that thing that is common in lovesick people, blown up the attractiveness of the person of their interest in their minds until they believe that there has never been anyone as beautiful, despite them just being average at best. He quickly cast his eyes over the casually indifferent Liebgott, dressed in blue jeans with a hole in the knee and a ripped up dark red t-shirt and wondered if that was the case. Probably not, judging by the way that other people had been appraising him as he had swaggered over to David.

“So.” The voice of the guy driving broke up the silence. He seemed vaguely amused, for some reason that David could not quite ascertain.  “You’re not gonna introduce me, Lieb?”

Liebgott made a grunting noise as David leaned forward awkwardly in the disorganised back seat, attempting to avoid the trash all over the car floor.

“This is George Luz. He’s our guitarist.” He flapped his hand in George’s direction then proceeded to return to his incredibly absorbing task of staring out of the window. David was starting to get irritated. He pushed himself forward, squeezing in between the two front seats, fed up of being ignored and subjected to Liebgott’s rudeness.

“Hi, I’m David Webster. I’m a student at Harvard. I met Joe on a trip out here a couple months ago, I’m a big fan of the band.”

“Is that so?” Luz, not taking his eyes off the road, had a turned up mouth when he spoke. “LIebgott has yet to regale us with the story of how you two met. Care to enlighten?”

David opened his mouth to speak before being effectively shut up by a curt ‘it’s not important’ from Liebgott, still avoiding his eyes. Luz, still seeming mysteriously entertained, merely shrugged and started to hum as he drove.

David leaned back into his seat, dejected. _Not important._ Maybe this whole thing wasn’t important after all. 

 

* * *

 

They arrived at the record store, memories of which left David a little warm in the face. Not long ago, He and Liebgott had kissed up against his door at the back until they had been so out of breath they had to pull away. Joe had dragged him inside and kissed him more, then he had done something truly impressive with his hands and it had all been transcendental, amazing, that was until his young co-worker had come stomping up the stairs, shouting for Joe’s expertise on a record’s location. They had sprang apart, David checking his watch and realising he was on the cusp of missing his flight, quickly scrawling down his details, aggressively pressing Liebgott back into the door until he bit his lip and drew blood (the little bastard), then ran like the devil to catch a taxi to the airport, grinning like a drunk the entire time.

Judging by his icy reception, these kinds of shenanigans were unlikely to be repeated. Joe escorted Webster silently to his apartment, ushering him and pointing to a worn out couch in the living room.

“You can sleep there.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Liebgott stared at him for a second, brow wrinkling like he wanted to say something, then turned away to rummage though his stuff.

Webster regretted coming, and he certainly regretted how excited he had been by the invitation. What an idiot. What was Liebgott thinking even asking him to come if he was so obviously disinterested?

Webster unloaded his backpack and laid out his things, books on top of his clothing for easy access whenever he needed to return to the comfort of literature, which, judging by the atmosphere may be considerably sooner than he would have expected. Liebgott was busying himself around the apartment, still obviously and patenting pretending that Webster did not exist until he finally turned to speak.

“We’re going to The Batallion.” He turned and walked away again after delivering this line in a bored, monotone voice. Bemused, Webster followed him along down to the bar. Perhaps a couple drinks could get Liebgott into a preferable mood, and honestly, there wasn’t much else he could do as his ‘guest’.

To his surprise and complete excitement, he noticed that they had been joined at The Battalion by the entire band. They all jostled Liebgott, seeming to share an inside joke that had them all extremely cheery, staring between David and Joe with bright, laughing eyes. David didn’t like it.  He should have been ecstatic to meet his favourite band, but Liebgott’s rudeness was putting a real dampener on things and he found it hard to concentrate on anything but his face, that wavy hair, the back of his head he so purposefully was putting in David’s eye line. He continued to ignore David, apart from quickly introducing him to the guys, choosing to sit far away from him so David ended up sandwiched between Perconte and Luz. What kind of game was he playing?

 

* * *

 

 A couple of drinks down and it wasn’t getting any better. Webster was still ignoring him, looking grouchy as hell in between his two band mates. Joe thought he would have been happier to meet the band he was so obsessed with. What a strange guy, so moody and unpredictable. It was annoying how much this made him want to put a smile on that face. 

“You're together then?”

Perconte was questioning Webster, a grinning and gleeful. Liebgott squinted as he observed their conversation, trying to gage Webster's feeling about the whole thing from his reaction. To his disappointment, Webster laughed loudly, cynically, a half smile jaunting across his features.

“No, no I wouldn't say that.”

Joe’s heart fell. _Wouldn't say that?_ Fucking dick. What, was Joe not good enough for him? Not high class or 'Harvard' enough, reading all those great wanky works of literature. Well that was just rich. Serves him right for going out on a limb for some guy, something he rarely did.  He supposed he should just give up. 

The night grew more raucous, Liebgott grew drunk and Webster grew more dissatisfied and irritated. The other guys were beginning to grow uneasy, questioning looks thrown amongst them. After hours of nothing, Liebgott finally spoke to Webster when all the other guys went for a smoke.

“So you're just gonna sit there looking like you're sucking a lemon” He hissed.

“Huh? Well I don't know what you expect me to do?” Liebgott merely shrugged, also getting up and retrieving his smokes to go out back with the rest of the guys. Webster did not want to be sat at this table alone whilst they all smoked. That was the last straw.

“Fuck this. I'm going back.”

Liebgott seemed taken aback for a second, eyes wide and maybe even slightly hurt. He quickly recovered before Webster could feel sorry for him, sneering and handing David his spare key, telling him to ‘go get his beauty sleep’, before he stalked out of the door, leaving David to stand on his own in the bar with no choice but to go back to Liebgott’s and begin to pack away all his things and think about what a fucking fool he had been, thinking a guy like that may have taken an interest in him.

 

* * *

  

When Liebgott left, cigarette already shoved in the corner of his mouth, the guys were all looking at him with worry and disdain.

“Dude that was pretty rude.” Luz piped up as the others nodded. “You're neglecting him. It’s not nice, Joe, what’s wrong with you. This isn’t grade school, you know. You’re allowed to like people without being a dick to them." 

“Shut the fuck up, that's none of your business.” Liebgott lit his cigarette and took a long drag, frowning deeply. George just shrugged, shaking his head, not wanting to get involved in any of Liebgott's weird, emotionally volatile bullshit. If those two idiots hadn’t sorted it out by tomorrow, he supposed he and the two other guys may have to intervene, but until them they’d have to let them try and figure out things by themselves.

In the early hours of the morning, Liebgott arrived back at his place. Webster had taken the bed. Of course he had, the bastard. He gazed at the sleeping, serene shape of him lying in Joe’s sheets. Fuck, he wished it had gone differently and he could be there too. That would be nice. He ran a hand through his hair and settled down on the couch for an uncomfortable couple of hours. 

He was met by cold stormy silence in the morning. He waited for the eruption which he knew was coming.

“I can't believe you did that.”

“Did what?”

“You just let me go home.” Webster was glaring at him, which was sort of adorable when he had a bed head and red crackled eyes. Kind of like a very grumpy but very fluffy cat.  _Ugh, what the fuck am I thinking?_  Liebgott swifly dismissed his odd train of thoughts to focus on the argument at hand.

“I'm sure you don't mind. You don't exactly seem to be enjoying my company.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Liebgott took a deep breath.

“Why did you even come here?”

“Why did you even invite me?” Liebgott was becoming increasingly more angry, not only with Webster but with himself. Why did he invite him? Did he really think that Webster would be interested, he who had such a great life and a load of good things going on? In him, a part time musician of an indie band who works in a record store and gets in fights when he drinks? He just liked the band and got caught up in a moment of oddness when they kissed, that was it. He wasn’t seriously into him.

“I dunno, I just thought maybe...oh you know what? Fuck you! You pretentious, pompous prick.” Webster’s mouth set in a line and his nostrils flared.

 “Fuck you too you angry, sulky child."

They stared, crazy eyed at each other for a minute. 

“Jesus Christ what the fuck is the matter with you?” Spat Webster, arms by his sides. He looked like he might cry.

“I’m leaving.” Liebgott decided he couldn’t handle any more of this shit. He slung on his jacket.

“Fine, see if I give a shit.”

Webster made his point by settling back down onto the bed and turning over, facing the wall and crossing his arms. Liebgott made a shaky fist, considered punching him again, reconsidered, unclenched his hand and stomped down the stairs, slamming the door on the way out for emphasis. Despite it only being 10 in the morning, he made his way straight back to The Batallion to deal with his troubles the best way he knew how.

 

* * *

  

Roe gave him a judgemental look when he entered and ordered a single whiskey but he thankfully didn’t say anything. He just raised his eyebrows and slung his towel back over his shoulder, walking off towards the backroom and humming some stupid backwoods Cajun tune to himself.

About 15 minutes later, Babe popped up next to Leibgott as he slumped besides his now-empty shot-glass.

“Hey Lieb! You’re here early!” 

“Fuck off.” Babe just grinned and shrugged, entirely unaffected by Joe’s acid tones. That boy was made of Teflon. He asked Faye if Doc was around, the end of his nose red.

“I think he’s in the back room, checking stock.”

“Ah okay! Well I’ve got to go to work. Could you give him this?”

It was a DVD of Jurassic Park.

“He said he’s never watched it, can you believe that?” Babe widened his eyes incredulously. “Tell him, um, he doesn't have to give it back any time soon. But, uh, he should watch it.”

Faye looked amused as she agreed, Babe flushed slightly, handing over the DVD then hurried out the door with a fleeting goodbye. Joe almost snorted, before he remembered he was too depressed to be snarky. Babe was such a kid.  He probably wrote ‘Mrs Babe Roe’ in all of his textbooks with little hearts.

Liebgott let his head descend once more into his palms. Thinking of that romantic shit just made him think of fucking Webster. He didn’t know what to do. How had he fucked up so badly? All he wanted was Webster to enjoy himself but he had been so awkward, so pouty, so disinterested that he had thrown Liebgott completely off his game. He didn’t have any alternative but to avoid him. 

Okay, maybe he hadn’t been awkward or pouty. Joe had just thought that there was going to be something more between them, considering the letters they had been sending but it appeared David was having none of it. He’s obviously changed his mind about Joe since the last time they had met.

Maybe this had been his fault. He just…he didn’t know how to act around him. He made him feel so stupid and embarrassed and he had been so shirty, like he didn’t even want to be there. Not even looking at Liebgott or attempting to make conversation. It made him feel on edge, so he had lashed out. He was hurt that David wasn’t interested and it wasn’t fair to take that out on him. He couldn’t help it if he wasn’t attracted to him.

He should go apologise to Webster. He knew that. Or at least try to talk to him. Do him that courtesy.

He sighed deeply and turned his shot glass over on the counter, picking up his jacket. Roe, who had emerged from his back room, nodded at him with a tiny smile, like he knew what he was thinking and approved. He had a way of doing that. It was strangely comforting.

 

* * *

 

When he got to the apartment he found Webster sitting on the corner of his bed, half way through packing his shirts into that stupid, Peace Corps looking back pack he had brought with him. It seemed all the fight was out of him too. He put up a good front though, glowering at Joe when he entered the room.

“What do you want?” He spat. Joe felt his temper rise again. Something about this guy just riled him right up.

“It’s my damn place, isn’t it?” He replied, before he remembered he was supposed to be apologising, not igniting yet another argument. He allowed his voice to grow softer, sifting out the harsher notes. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was kind of a dick this morning. And last night. Probably before that too.”

Webster simply scowled. Liebgott decided to chance it and moved across the room, slowly settling down on the bed next to Webster.

“You were.” Admitted Webster. “But I’m sorry I called you all that shit too. I just don’t understand what’s going on with you.”

Liebgott watched his profile. He had incredibly blue eyes and very long eyelashes that contracted with his dark hair and slightly tan skin. _Why hadn’t he noticed that before?_

“Hey.” He said, nudging a possibly more receptive Webster with his foot.  “You were um, pretty romantic in your letters. Why didn’t you- ” He was growing more embarrassed by the minute and judging by his extreme flush, so was Webster. “You know.” He petered off weakly.

“When I came up you didn’t seem to be pushing anything and I’m just happy to be around you. So I thought, okay, friends it is. That’s enough for me.” Webster allowed himself a sad little smile, which flared Liebgott’s anger.

“When did I say anything about being friends? I don’t want to be friends with you. You annoy the shit out of me!” Webster’s mournful smile quickly fixed itself into an enraged and confused frown.

“So you want me to leave.” He tried to get up off the bed, grimacing.

“No, you idiot. No!” Liebgott grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him back down. “Wasn’t I obvious in my letter?”

“No…?” 

“I gave you the fucking mixtape! I said you were my groupie.” His voice raised in tone. “ _Groupies fuck the singer!_ ”

They was a long moment of silence as Webster blinked owlishly at Liebgott.

 “ _Oh_. Well. No, you weren’t very obvious. And you’ve kind of been treating me with contempt since I got here.”

“I was nervous.” Joe looked at his hands as he let this admission escape him. He hated looking weak but he supposed David deserved to hear it.

“Oh.” 

“So.”

“Yeah.” They now stood at a timid impasse, both too nervous to break the ice.

“What happened to the guy who manhandled me?” Liebgott looked up tentatively at Webster through his fringe.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to.” Webster was staring back at him shyly.

“Of course I fucking do.” He started to grin, which in turn inspired Webster to do the same. In a flash, Webster was grabbing him, wrestling him onto his back on the bed and kissing him like he needed it. Joe was returning his affections with equal enthusiasm and maybe even more force, not wanting to be outdone. They were so rambunctious in their actions that they slid off the bed completely. They ended up on Joe’s messy floor, cushioned by his laundry. 

They made out on the bedroom floor for either 5 minutes or 5 hours, it was pretty hard to tell. At one point Webster paused and shuffled so he was on face level with Liebgott, looking conspiratorial.

“So, the groupie fucks the singer?” A slow grin was spreading across his face.

“Yeah.” Liebgott answered hazily, reaching back up to the back of David’s neck to pull him back down until he realised the real meaning of the statement that just left his mouth, eyes widening as he struggled to correct himself. “No! Wait. No! The singer fucks the groupie!”

“That’s not what I heard.” Webster grappled him over, manoeuvring until he was on top, straddling Joe’s waist and smiling brightly down at him. Joe, God help him, couldn’t help but smile back, his best smile, the one reserved for school pictures and his ma, flashing all his teeth. He surged up and kissed him, just below the tensest vein in his neck. 

“I’m glad you’re here.” He cocked his head and leaned back on his elbows, one eyebrow raised.

“Now, we ‘aint got all day so why don’t you get the fuck on with it?”

Webster gladly complied.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

 

**BONUS**

**Character Illustrations**

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Do I Wanna Know?" by the Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> Sorry this took such a long time! 
> 
> I've written Joe as a shit who only has one night stands and therefore has no idea how to cope when they actually like someone so they end up being defensively nasty. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
